


pleather for breakfast

by etoilette



Series: Kinktober 2020 [5]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akechi Goro Attends Shujin Academy, Boot Worship, Dick stomping, F/M, Female Akechi Goro, Femdom, Foot Fetish, Light BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:53:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26833993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoilette/pseuds/etoilette
Summary: Kinktober Day #5: Boot WorshipThe grip in his pants is so strong that he legitimately worries that he's about to tear a hole through the cheap material. Akechi's smirk widens and, balancing carefully on one leg, she raises her foot until it catches under Akira's chin, tilting his head up until he's looking right at into her face.To an outsider, it might look ridiculous what the two of them are doing. A parody of a S&M club, right in the middle of the student council room in Shujin High School
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: Kinktober 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949695
Comments: 1
Kudos: 59





	pleather for breakfast

**Author's Note:**

> [pleather for breakfast](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2aPSLqJ341g) made me obsess over No More Heroes for weeks before I even touched the game.

Makoto's immediate reaction when she sees Akira slouch into the room is a tired sigh, rubbing the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger.

"Kurusu-kun, _again_?" she says, sounding eerily like Kawakami does whenever Akira irritates her. "You might as well join the student council at this rate, since you're here practically every day."

"Har har," Akira says.

"Don't even joke about that, Niijima-san." Akechi says lightly as she walks in, hidden behind Akira's taller frame. She closes the door and smiles up at him. "I'd take tutoring Mishima-kun for a week over spending any more time than necessary with Kurusu-kun.."

Akira waggles his eyebrows at Akechi, who simply raises her own back at him, looking distinctly unimpressed.

Makoto huffs disapprovingly as she stands up, shuffling her books and papers into her backpack. "Mishima-kun's not that bad," she says, but even she sounds unsure. Right before she leaves the room, her hand on the doorknob, she casts a last suspicious look at Akechi and Akira. "Akechi-san, if Kurusu-kun is really having so many disciplinary issues, like you say, why don't you take it up with the teachers?"

"Oh, you know," Akechi says, a wide smile on her face as she leans forward. It's a move that places her face below Makoto's, forcing her to look up at the student council president, and allows a clear view of her surprisingly ample breasts. It's a motion that has gotten Akechi out of trouble from teachers, and allowed her to charm her way out of work more than once. Not surprisingly, her looks, coupled with the rather suggestive way she conducts herself, had made her a very popular student in school, despite also being known as a hardass of a vice president.

Even Makoto — fellow famous hardass — blushes and looks away, stammering out, "W-Well, I _don't_ know. That's why I'm asking!"

"Don't you feel bad for him?" Akechi continues. "If he gets into trouble — any trouble at all! — he'll be shipped off to juvenile hall! Niijima-san, if you're alright with having that on your conscience, you're free to bring up your concerns, but I..."

Akira watches as Akechi's eyes fill up with tears. He's always been amazed at just quickly Akechi can turn on the waterworks when needed. Despite the fact that Akechi has fake-cried her way out of trouble at least three times already this year, Makoto still backs up, visibly thrown off-kilter.

"No, no," Makoto says quickly, already opening the door and slipping out. "Take your time, Akechi-san! I'm glad that Kurusu-kun has such an attentive senpai to make sure that he doesn't, um, re-offend."

"Have a nice day, Niijima-senpai," Akira calls out.

But Makoto is already gone, slamming the door shut behind her. In the distance, they can hear the muffled sound of her hurried footsteps as she runs away.

Akechi straightens up and brushes the tears away from her lashes, her eyebrows furrowed. The cold anger on her face is nothing like the sweet expressions of earlier, and she glares up at Akira. "Why in the world don't you ever want to meet somewhere else? Niijima-san's going to catch on at some point, you know."

Akira waves his hand absently. "Nah. She probably thinks we spend extra time studying or something like that. There's nothing in her head except books and exams."

Akechi snorts out a laugh. It's such an undignified sound that Akira doubts she meant to do it, and he can't help the delighted smile on his face. That he was able to pull out any inkling of Akechi's genuine emotion feels like a tremendous personal accomplishment of some kind. But he smothers the expression before she could see it. He's been waiting all day for this and he doesn't want Akechi's moodiness to rear its ugly head.

They've done this so many times now that Akira barely needs to be commanded or steered. He sits down in the chair Makoto vacated, parting his legs until he can feel the tightening in his inner thigh.

Akechi toes off her shoes, a seductive smile on her face as she raises her stocking-clad foot and places it on the seat of the chair, tantalizingly just out of reach from Akira's clothed dick. Even through the black fabric, Akira can see every single one of her toes, and he could even see the pale pink of her nails, small and shell-like.

He wonders if Akechi will let him worship her foot today, before she puts on her boots. The last time he did, he spent so long working his tongue over every inch of skin, exploring even between each toe, that Akechi got bored and started doing her calculus homework, Akira on his knees before her, as if he was her loyal subject. He remembers the delicate bone of her ankle when he was allowed to caress it, and he remembers the way that Akechi twitches, sensitive despite her protests, every time she allows him this privilege.

The grip in his pants is so strong that he legitimately worries that he's about to tear a hole through the cheap material. Akechi's smirk widens and, balancing carefully on one leg, she raises her foot until it catches under Akira's chin, tilting his head up until he's looking right at into her face.

To an outsider, it might look ridiculous what the two of them are doing. A parody of a S&M club, right in the middle of the student council room in Shujin High School. But Akira can barely swallow around the sudden dryness in his throat, and his pants are tightening in the most uncomfortable way. He wants to pull himself out, or close his legs — anything to ease the pressure on his erection — but the last time he did anything of that sort without Akechi's express orders, she left him high and dry, and refused to answer any of his calls or text messages for a week.

"Please, Akechi-senpai," he begs, following the same script they've been using every day for a month now. "Step on me."

"Now, why should I?" Akechi hums. She starts to move her toes, tickling under Akira's chin like she might to a cat.

"I'm just a lowly bug," Akira says, looking away submissively. He feels Akechi raise her leg even more, until he has a full view of her white panties underneath her skirt. "The only thing I'm good for is being trampled under your heel."

Akechi hums again and she finally lowers her foot, tracing Akira's chest and stomach with it until it's hovering right over his crotch. Akira can feel the wetness leaking out of his slit, but the stain isn't visible through the patterned design of his school pants. Yet, as if she could see through them, Akechi says, "You'll make a mess of me if I step on you now. That simply wouldn't do."

"Akechi-senpai, please, I need —"

"I know what you need more than you do," Akechi snaps, and for a second, Akira's breath hitches in his throat, sure that he's offended her in some irreparable way. He hasn't deviated far off the script, but it's not as if Akechi won't throw him curveballs just for the heck of it. However, before he could prostrate himself at her foot and beg for forgiveness, her gaze softens and she says, "Take yourself out, Kurusu-kun."

Akira doesn't need to be told twice. It's hard to pull down the zipper while he has his legs parted so wide, but Akechi never gave him the okay to close his legs. Not yet. He can't help the relieved moan that escapes him as the air-conditioned breeze of the student council room hits his overheated flesh and he strokes himself once.

It's an act of rebellion that Akechi misses, her attention focused on where she had tossed her bag carelessly onto the ground by the wall.

She turns and walks towards it, kicking her other shoe off as she does so. There's something about Akechi, normally so prim and polite, tossing her shoes every which way that makes Akira's breath come faster. As if she is so excited that she can't be bothered to line them up properly.

Akira's never been allowed to peek inside of Akechi's school bag, but he's been permitted to hold it for her once or twice. It's remarkably heavy, full of textbooks that she lugs around so that she could study anywhere she wants to.

(To the rest of the students and faculty of Shujin, Akechi seems just as singlemindedly studious as Makoto and it delights Akira every time to be in the loop, able to see the lewd and dark depths of Akechi's personality.)

He isn't sure how Akechi manages to fit heeled knee-high boots in her bag, even if she folds them up, and at this point he's long written it off as one of Akechi's many mundane superpowers.

They're cheap — not even Akechi is willing to shell out 7,000 yen for boots that will only ever touch Akira's disgusting dick and seed — and made of pleather, but the material is soft and pliant from everyday use. She tugs them on slowly, even taking the time to smooth out any odd wrinkles from its time in her bag.

By the time she finishes zipping up both, Akira is practically shaking in the chair, salivating at the idea of that heeled foot coming down on him, pressing and kneading into his dick with the sharp bottom of the boot.

She walks over, practically strutting like she's a model on a runway, and there is that imperious smirk on his face that makes Akira want to lie down and just let her stake her claim all over him.

"Good boy," she purrs. "You didn't touch yourself? You were obedient and patient for me?"

Akira nods, panting in anticipation. "Yes, Akechi-senpai. I listened to everything you said. I — argh!"

Akechi slams her foot down onto Akira's crotch, digging into his balls cruelly with the flat heel of her boot. Fire laps up Akira's dick, lancing through his body, and he can't stop convulsing, kicking out his legs as he let out a strangled scream.

Despite the pain though, he can feel more blood pump into his cock, filling up even bigger and harder as pre-cum practically pours out of his slit. He can feel the hot liquid dripping down the shaft, soaking his pubic hair and his pants, and he can see through the tears in his eyes how the brown of Akechi's boots turn even darker as he leaks all over her.

"Don't lie to me," Akechi hisses, grinding in even more until Akira's vision blacks out. "You've been awfully naughty lately, Kurusu-kun. Don't tell me you need discipline _again_?"

"N-no," Akira whimpers, his voice embarrassingly high. "Forgive me, Akechi-senpai."

"Senpai?"

She presses her weight down briefly before she completely lifts her foot. Strands of Akira's juices stick to the pleather, and when Akira chances a look down at himself, his dick is grotesquely red. No wonder Akechi doesn't want to touch him anymore. Despite the shame coursing through him, he can't stop the saliva from leaking out of his mouth, nor can he stop his hips from bucking up, trying to chase after the phantom sensations of her boot.

"M-mistress," he begs. "Mistress Akechi, forgive me. I've been so bad, please don't punish me."

Akechi places a finger against her lip, tapping against it as she hums loudly. "You honestly think you're in any position to ask me that?"

Akira shakes his head vigorously, sweat flying everywhere and his glasses almost slipping off his nose.

Akechi shrugs and sighs, but she lowers her foot once more, stroking the side of the boot against Akira's shaft. It's a fast pace, and she isn't gentle with how hard she's shoving against Akira's dick. In the beginning, Akira used to worry that she would kick his dick clean off but now, he has to bite his lip — so hard he practically bleeds — and cling to the sides of the chair for dear life as the white-hot sensations course through the rest of his body.

"Thank you, Mistress," Akira says, knowing that was what Akechi was expecting. She rewards him with another caressing press down on his balls. "Thank you, Mistress. Thank you thank you th—"

He cuts himself off with a moan as Akechi tilts her foot back so that the entire flat of it is pressed against his dick and she starts to lean forward, still not letting up with the minute stroking motion of her leg. A hysterical part of Akira's mind can't help but latch onto the fact that Akechi is almost insanely talented when it comes to controlling her leg, as if she was a star soccer player in a previous life.

"I've trained you so well, Kurusu-kun," Akechi says hoarsely, and Akira feels a twinge of pride at being able to affect her so much. "You're such a good boy for me."

"Yes, Mistress," Akira groans frantically, shuddering as Akechi presses the heel into the thick vein pulsing at the underside of his cock. It's like she's trying to milk him, gyrating the foot upwards until Akira has to throw himself back, jerking his hips.

There is the oddest sensation in the core of his stomach as he starts to tilt backwards in the seat, but Akechi reaches out and snatches at the back of the chair, pulling him closer into her foot.

"Thank you," Akira says again, knowing that he would have knocked himself out on the floor or against the wall had Akechi not done anything. "Thank you f—"

He cuts himself off with a strangled shout as Akechi leans forward. It's not her full weight, but it's just enough, bearing down until Akira feels cum splatter all over his stomach. Involuntary spasms run through his body as he climaxes, throwing his head back again as he sobs through his release. His oversensitive head is stimulated by the shaking of his own body. When Akechi releases him, backing off and away, his cock springs free from the pressure and yet another spurt of seed drips out of the heated slit.

His mouth is open as he draws in reedy breaths, trying to force his lungs to fill. He feels limp, so brain-dead that even moving a single finger is a herculean task. His vision and awareness comes back to him in spades, and he blinks blearily up at the spotless ceiling, shaking in the aftermath of one of the more intense orgams he's experienced since he first started doing this with Akechi.

Speaking of Akechi, she takes advantage of his post-orgasmic bliss by grabbing his hair and pulling him down until she can shove her foot into his face once more.

"Clean it up," Akechi orders and she raises her boot. Akira can see the trembling in her body, and with her legs this parted, he can see the wetness starting to drip down her thigh. "You can use your hands if you want."

She never asks him to get her off, and Akira never offers, but some days he wishes that she would command him to eat her out. He doesn't have much experience there, but he desperately wants to lap up the translucent pearls from her pale thighs and pink walls, licking up teasingly until he can fix his mouth against her clit and _suck_ until she's the one screaming and begging.

He reaches out with his tongue and laps it up, tilting his head so he can get at the sides where his seed had splattered onto where Akechi's ankle is. He can still feel her trembling as she stands on one leg, and he reaches out to cradle her foot reverently, stroking up her calf until he feels the softness of her thigh.

The pleather leaves an oddly acerbic taste on his tongue, mixing with the bitterness of his own spent. He grimaces but lowers his head submissively, hoping that Akechi doesn't catch sight of his disgusted expression as he opens his mouth to take in more of the boot, suckling it until it's dripping with his saliva.

At the very least he knows that Akechi's neurotic cleanliness means that she isn't secretly wearing these boots outside of the school, where she could pick up lord knows what germs.

By the time Akechi is satisfied enough to pull her boot away, clicking the heel of it against the polished ground, Akira's jaw hurts so much he can barely close it. His mouth feels dry, despite the river of saliva dripping down his chin, and he runs his tongue over his lips to rid it of that acerbic flavour.

The scene is over now, he knows without words. He wipes his mouth with the back of his handand tucks his dick back into his pants. He accepts a tissue from the box Akechi offers him and pats at his crotch as best as he can. There is a stain leaking through, but it's laundry day tomorrow, and he doubts anyone would stare too closely at him on his way home.

"I hear you did well on your midterms," Akechi says conversationally, wiping the toe of her boots with a tissue of her own.

Akira looks at her in surprise, but she avoids his gaze. "You saw the results posted in the hallway?"

"I heard through the grapevine," Akechi replies offhandedly. No matter how much Akira thinks through their degrees of separation, he can't come up with anyone who would go up to Akechi unprompted and simply _tell_ her about his results.

He bites back a pleased smile and lowers his head, rubbing a hand through his hair. His heart is pounding in his chest and he can feel the heat rising up in his cheeks. "W-what would you say if I told you I wanted a reward? I studied really hard, Akechi-senpai."

For a long moment, Akechi doesn't reply, too busy unzipping herself from her boots and placing her school loafers back on. She folds up the boots again and places them back into her bag; no matter how much she dabbed at them with tissue, Akira doubts that they're completely dry yet, and it sends a thrill up his spine at the idea of even a droplet of his seed getting onto her meticulously cared-for books.

She turns around, a playful and mischievous look in her eye. "Don't be greedy. I just gave you your prize, didn't I?"


End file.
